


And Miles to Go Before I Sleep

by Aviss



Category: Good Omens - Gaiman & Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-16
Updated: 2010-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:47:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviss/pseuds/Aviss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Home is where the heart is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Miles to Go Before I Sleep

**And miles to go before I sleep**

  
What he really needed, Crowley decided, was a vacation.

There was nothing that could help him relieve the stress of the Apocalypse Debacle and--well, other things, like spending some time travelling around doing nothing. A sabbatical of sorts.

He'd been working for the same boss for six thousand years; it was high time he took some time off. After the latest events he really deserved one and it wasn't as if Hell had vacation or pension plans, they didn't even had a retirement option. Once you were there, you were there forever, not that a change of employment was in his future.

But it seemed they had forgotten about Crowley, and he was really grateful for that. It might not last but he was lucky to have gotten out of that one unscathed, anything else was a bonus.

In other circumstances he would have just gone to sleep and wake up after a few more turns around the sun, but he didn't only need the time to relax, he also needed the space. And the distance, don't forget the distance.

So a vacation it was.

Crowley took care of his car and his plants, if wouldn't do to return to a vandalized Bentley and dead houseplants, informed the angel of his plans and got ready to leave. He had been surprised and not a little disappointed by Aziraphale's response to his, "I'm going to take a year off; I want to travel around for a while."

The quiet, "Of course, my dear Crowley, whatever you need." without even looking up from his book had been the final straw. He really needed to get away from there.

Now he just needed to pick a place.

…

Alexandria had not changed much in the couple of millennia since his last visit.

It was still dark, damp, foul smelling and filled with more people than was probably sanitary to keep in one place. It had been one of his favourite places on Earth before, when he was _actively_ trying to corrupt people instead of just watching while they did his job for him or just needed a little push.

That place was as corrupted as they came, and even then Crowley had been the lazy type preferring to just sit back and enjoy the show.

He had been there when the Library was first destroyed.

_"Foul fiend, art thou responsible for this heinous deed?"_

Crowley looked up from the meal he was enjoying, watching the fire spreading from the docks to the city. He had been sleeping for the past couple of weeks and had only returned to consciousness by the cries of the people and the sound of mayhem.

He had looked around, assessed the situation and then ordered the best wine and food to be prepared for him.

"Oh, it's you," he said around his mouthful of basbousa, taking a sip of his wine to wash it down. "Want to sit down and have a drink?"

The angel was staring at him with a mix of incredulity and fury, his blue eyes burning with rightful indignation. He still looked the same as the last time Crowley had seen him: blonde, pale and very, very angry.

Aziraphale was about ready to give a good smiting to the poor bastard who crossed him. Crowley almost pitied whoever had been responsible for burning the Library, if there was something this particular angel despised was people who mistreated books.

"Crawley," he growled warningly.

He raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "It wasn't me, I just woke up," he said. "And it's Crowley now, by the way."

Aziraphale stared at him considering for a few seconds, his anger visibly deflating. "It wasn't you?" he asked reverting back to normal language.

"No."

"You're not lying to me?"

He was tempted to say he was, he was a demon that was what he did, but he thought better of it. He really didn't want to fight right now, much less with this particular angel. They had done that quite a few times before and it got old very quickly. He'd much rather have a drink and some company--even if that company was Aziraphale.

Actually, after the last few times they fought and ended up going somewhere for a drink afterwards, they had decided to skip the whole good against evil battle part and just go straight to the bar. Aziraphale wasn't bad company at all, he could certainly drink.

"No, I'm not."

Aziraphale flopped down on the floor, sitting next to Crowley on the cushions, a glass of wine already on his hand. "They're burning books," he said, whining.

"I know."

"Lots of books."

"I know. Can't you do anything?"

"No, I can't, it's too late to intervene. I'll need more wine."

It had been around that time they drafted the Agreement, actually it didn't even merited the name at the time, it had been just a few courtesy rules set amid gallons of good wine and drunken conversations.

If he was really honest with himself, Crowley would admit Alexandria hadn't been that entertaining until he met with Aziraphale there and it had quickly lost its appeal once the angel was gone.

Kind of like now, there wasn't much for him to do there on his own.

Maybe it hadn't been the best choice for the first stop.

…

Seville was still one of the best places to go alone. Spaniards were very friendly on the south and the sweet wine was excellent.

Crowley liked it, it was impossible to feel lonely when everyone was your friend for as long as you were there drinking with them. It didn't hurt that the girls were very pretty.

He didn't know why it had taken him so many centuries to return to that city.

He had a brief look at the Giralda while the taxi drove him to the meeting place.

_Crowley spotted the silent figure on top of the Giralda, looking mournfully at the crowd assembled on the ground, entering the church. He descended quietly and sat next to him._

"They live such short lives," he said, "that's the reason we shouldn't get too close to them."

Aziraphale turned to look at him, an aura of misery surrounding him like a rain cloud, his usually bright eyes dull and filled with pain. "She was so young and talented," he finally said, his voice barely audible.

"Yes." There wasn't much Crowley could say, he was ill equipped to provide comfort, even if he had felt something for the deceased. Something more than dislike, he meant.

He had taken an instant antipathy for the girl: she was young, beautiful and talented, as the angel had said. She was also witty and funny. And had managed to completely catch Aziraphale's attention, fascinating him with her poetry and conversation.

Crowley wasn't used to be ignored, and being deprived of his usual drinking partner when they had finally managed to find each other in the same city annoyed him more than he was willing to admit.

There was another feeling he couldn't quite describe, but Crowley didn't want to get into that.

They stayed like that, both sitting there in the warm spring afternoon watching the people on the street, not speaking. Crowley didn't know what to say to make the angel smile again.

Finally, when the sun was coming down and the sky turned purple Crowley got up.

"Let's go Angel; there is nothing to see here."

Aziraphale turned to him, "Where to?"

"I know just the place."

Right. Now he remembered why he had not bothered to come back. _She. That woman._

She had been the one monopolizing the angel's attention last time, for the first time in his existence making Crowley feel jealous, though he had not known at the time.

He had not liked it. Not one bit.

Now he thought about it he hadn't enjoyed his stay so much before, the people was overly friendly like that and the girls weren't quite so pretty looked up close.

"I've changed my mind," he said to the driver. "I'm going to the airport."

…

Nice was not good either, Crowley could still remember the night they managed to almost end up in jail for fighting drunk.

…

Venice, wasn't that the place where Aziraphale had to fish him out of the channel when the lynching mob went after him?

Crowley didn't get to leave the airport; it was time to go to the New World.

There surely must be fewer places filled with the wrong kind of memories.

…

Boston had changed since the last time he had been there, though the weather was still terrible.

Massive buildings of steel and glass replaced the old Victorian houses he remembered, and the docks had become huge affairs bustling with activity be it day or night.

The service at the Ritz was as good as he was used to, and his room left nothing to be desired but Crowley didn't feel completely comfortable there either.

He probably had not much luck choosing destinations, wherever he went the feeling of loneliness followed him around. He wasn't used to it and didn't much like it.

Crowley went down to the restaurant and ordered the best wine for his meal. That was just what he needed, a nice vintage to help him cheer up. It had always done the trick back home: dinner at the Ritz, good wine and good conversation with--

He blessed under his breath, shaking his head. He was definitely not thinking about him.

Not again.

_"It's such a waste," Aziraphale moaned taking a sip of his steaming mug._

Outside the crowd was getting rowdy, shouts and insults filling the air while the perplexed employees of the East India Company and a few representatives of the British law tried to salvage whatever they could of the cargo.

It wasn't going to be much; that had been one of the best ideas Crowley had ever put in motion.

They were sitting inside Crowley's house, the living room window facing the dock where everything was happening now. More and more crates of tea were dumped on the water, Aziraphale cringing a bit with each splash.

It had taken some effort to convince him to have a drink with Crowley that evening, and if he had known what he would be seeing he's have refused. Or at least tried to thwart his plans.

Crowley smiled wickedly. "It's just tea, angel."

It had been luck he ran into the angel at Boston just as things were becoming boring. Crowley had been seriously considering relocation to the Old World again and looking for him. It had been, literally, centuries since he had a drinking partner able to keep up with him.

He opened a bottle of wine and gave a glass to Aziraphale, who accepted it with a grateful smile.

Maybe he could stay for a while longer there.

Definitely not.

The New World had not been such a good idea after all.

…

Tokyo was nothing to write home about, he had preferred Edo.

The city right now was nothing but high glass and concrete buildings and people milling about, too concerned about their jobs and boring lives to have time for anything else. Even sin.

It had lost most of his character.

The food was still fantastic he had to admit, though he should have gone to Kyoto to enjoy the best one. He still had time to.

The problem with Kyoto, and the reason he had not gone there, was the memories. There were few places left in the world which didn't contain memories of him and the angel.

Six thousand years made for a lot of them.

Crowley popped a piece of maguro nigiri in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Maybe this vacation had not been the best idea after all. He liked the world and was glad it had not been destroyed, but he had to face the truth: it was terribly boring being on his own.

Not a month after leaving London and he was already itching to go back, he would never make it a whole year. It was time to admit defeat, face the facts and go back home.

…

London was still dark, wet and miserable when Crowley arrived. One could almost smell the grime and contamination from the plane, the unpleasant expressions on the people living there the exact same ones as when he left.

He was home.

Crowley would have never imagined it would come a day he would miss that place, but apparently he did.

He went to his house first, checked his car and houseplants and went straight to bed. He wasn't tired; jet-lag, as many other things, was something that happened to other people. But he had things to think about.

More specifically he had one thing to think about.

_"Don't you get tired of this, angel?" Crowley asked his voice unsteady._

They were back at Azirapahale's house after one of the usual dinners at the Ritz, a glass of wine in their hands and several bottles on the table. Crowley was sprawled on the couch, his head swimming pleasantly while he studied the ceiling with unfocused eyes. It needed a hand of paint.

"Of what, my dear?" Aziraphale said sounding also the worse for wear.

"This," he gestured with his glass hand, the liquid spilling from the rim onto his fingers. He switched the glass to the other hand and licked it. It wouldn't do to waste such a good vintage. Aziraphale studied him, his eyes even more unfocused. "Everything--this place, this life--it's always the same. I do my job and get people to be bad, you do yours and they are good, but nothing ever changes. And this city, it really doesn't need me here, there are enough sinners here to make up for a very long vacation if I wanted to take one."

"Do you?" Aziraphale asked, moving a bit and slumping against Crowley's shoulder.

"Do I what?"

"Want to take a vacation, leave here?"

Crowley tried to shrug, the weight on one of his sides making it difficult. "Maybe, I'm not sure--there isn't much for me to do here, is there

Aziraphale tilted his head to look at him and Crowley realized how close they were. Had this been any other being in the world, the situation would have definitely been uncomfortable. "It will be the same anywhere else, dear."

Crowley nodded resigned, "I know."

"And I am here." Aziraphale punctuated those word by leaning forward a bit more, his lips brushing gently against Crowley's.

Suddenly he didn't feel so pleasantly drunk anymore, he was very sober and very frightened. That wasn't possible, it wasn't happening--it was just wrong.

But it didn't feel wrong, it felt--

Aziraphale sighed, feeling his indecision. "I'm sorry dear Crowley," he didn't sound drunk either and was looking at him with the saddest expression he had ever seen in those eyes. "I thought you--"

"I have to go," Crowley said standing up and leaving before Aziraphale had the chance to say anything else.

That was the reason he had felt so annoyed at the lack of response when he said he was leaving, he had been expecting--he didn't know what but definitely more than being completely ignored.

Only that wasn't entirely right.

He had been the one to run away that night, and it had taken him a month and several stops around the globe to realize he shouldn't have done that.

Making up his mind before he lost his courage again, Crowley stood up from the bed and grabbed the keys to his car. He almost changed directions several times on his way to the bookshop, wondering if he shouldn't consider it a bit longer, maybe take a couple of years nap to clear his head.

He reached his destination and let himself in ignoring the sign saying the shop was closed.

Aziraphale was at the back, head buried on a ledger and a steaming mug of tea next to it. He looked at him, taking in the slumped shoulders and the way the dim light made his blond hair appear almost ashy. It always made him think of the fire and his panicked reaction thinking the angel was gone forever.

It was hard to believe it had taken him so long to realize what was right in front of him.

"Angel," he said walking up to him.

Aziraphale looked up, his lips curling in a gentle smile his eyes shinning with pleasure. "Oh, Crowley dear, you're back!" he said with real warmth.

Crowley returned his smile.

"I'm home."

…

~Fin~

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [and miles to go before I sleep (the good wine and bad company remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/87233) by [gogollescent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gogollescent/pseuds/gogollescent)




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